Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] (4 page)

    "I don't intend to, Mr. Adler.
I'm
taking my shipment to Bannock."

    Adler shook his head disapprovingly. A deep line of concentration dug itself in between his eyes. "That's foolish-a lone woman, with the rough sort of men you'll need to handle the wagons, that far from civilization. It wouldn't be safe for you."

    "I own a gun," Cora Sorel told him coolly. "And I know how to use it. I've taken care of myself in the uncivilized world for quite some time."

    "You worry me, Miss Sorel…"

    "I'll bet she does," Clayburn cut in softly. "And so did Farnell."

    Adler's cold eyes fastened on him without expression. "What do you mean by that?"

    Clayburn's hard, cynical eyes stared back at Adler steadily. "Two separate wagon trains getting to Bannock about the same time would cut into your profits. There'd be twice as many supplies, cutting down the worth of each item. And with the people there having a choice of who to buy from, you couldn't hold out for the kind of profits you'd like. You'll make even less if she gets to Bannock before you do. Her supplies would be all sold by the time you got there. Bannock's most pressing needs would already be satisfied. You'd have to sell to slightly less anxious buyers."

    "That's a consideration, of course," Adler admitted tightly. "I didn't claim to be offering her charity."

    Clayburn's mouth twisted derisively. Mockery crept into his voice. "What did you offer Farnell, up there in Bannock? Maybe you just warned him. Warned him that if he tried competing with you, you'd find a way to stop him."

    The big bruiser took a step toward Clayburn. Adler stopped him with a quick gesture. He and Clayburn continued to stare at each other. Then Adler turned back to Cora Sorel.

    "I made you a fair offer," he said, his manner now abrupt, the words coming out clipped and hard. "You'd be wise to accept it. As I told you, it's a long way to Bannock, through bad country. Anything could happen to you along the way." He had allowed a faint hint of threat to leak into his voice. Not much; just enough to be felt.

    She continued to smile at him, unmoved. "Thanks for telling me. I like to know the rules before I sit in on a game."

    "This is no game. It could be very dangerous for you-even fatal." Adler stood up. "Think it over carefully. You have time. Until the train arrives tomorrow afternoon. I won't repeat my offer. You can come to me anytime you decide to accept it. My room is in this hotel."

    He turned and walked away without another glance at Clayburn.

    But his two bodyguards went on looking at Clayburn for a moment before they followed Adler.

    

    

    Cora Sorel dropped her smile as she looked at Clayburn. "You think he's the one who paid them to kill Farnell."

    "Smells that way." His greenish eyes watched her. "Any chance of your taking Adler's offer?"

    "Not a chance in the world. If he wants to make it a race to Bannock, he'll get one."

    "He'll do more than race you. He'll try to stop you."

    She nodded, frowning. "He made that clear enough."

    "You'll need a man to take Farnell's place as wagon captain. You want to go along all the way to Bannock to make sure you're not cheated, and I can see your point. But it'll take a man to run things on that trail, make no mistake about that."

    She eyed him calculatingly. "Sounds almost like you want the job yourself."

    "I do."

    "Why?" Her voice was wary.

    Clayburn's lips thinned. "There's a man I want to meet again. He's likely to show up wherever Adler needs another killing job done for him."

    "That young redhead?"

    "Uh-huh."

    She thought about the story the marshal had told her of what Clayburn had done at the stage station: put that together with the way she read the look of him. She knew how to read men; she'd learned across a lot of poker tables. And in a number of situations that hadn't had anything to do with gambling.

    But there were certain practical considerations.

    "Being captain of a wagon train requires experience."

    "I have it," he told her flatly. "Ran a few supply trains through to the posts in Arizona Territory when I was scouting for the army. Don't worry, I can handle the job."

    Cora Sorel's dark eyes regarded him with some surprise. "Gambler, army scout, wagon captain… You've had a varied life. Anything else you've done?"

    Clayburn shrugged. "This and that. I get restless."

    She made up her mind. "All right. The job's yours."

    "Good." Clayburn's long, lean fingers drummed softly on the table as he focused on the problems ahead. "How many wagons have you got?"

    "Eight."

    "How about men to drive them?"

    "I've got six teamsters. Men who worked for Harry Farnell pretty regularly. All good men, according to him. In the morning you can help me hire the other two we'll need."

    "If those two men Adler had with him are samples of his crew," Clayburn said, "it'll take more than mule-skinners to get your wagons through. We'll need some men to ride guard. The right kind of men."

    Cora Sorel nodded. "I've been giving that some thought."

    "Anyone in mind?"

    "Not yet."

    "All right, then. I'll hunt around and see what I can find."

    "Subject to my approval," she told him firmly.

    "Fair enough."

    They talked money. She didn't have much left, and the wages she could offer were not exceptional. But she compensated with the size of the bonus she was willing to pay each man after the freight was sold in Bannock.

    "I'd like an advance on my wages," Clayburn said after they'd settled the matter.

    Coral Sorel opened the handbag on her lap. counted fifty dollars onto the table. "Enough?"

    "It'll do. Care to play some poker?"

    An hour later, in her room on the top floor of the hotel, Clayburn pushed the last of the fifty dollars she'd advanced him across the table to her.

    "You play mighty slick poker." Nothing in his face or voice betrayed that he'd discovered the tiny notches on the brand new cards, where she'd marked them with her thumb nail while dealing.

    "I've had a lot of practice," she said with just a glint of humor in her dark eyes.

    A corner of Clayburn's mouth quirked. "Looking good enough to eat helps, too. Takes a man's mind off the game." It had certainly taken his mind off it. Usually he sat down to poker in a naturally suspicious frame of mind. Only the heady effect of being alone in the softly lit bedroom with her had kept him from feeling those markings for so long.

    She smiled at him. "I was told that, long ago, by a riverboat gambler. It's what started me on my career. Are you quitting?"

    "Not if you'll advance me another fifty dollars on my wages."

    Cora Sorel shrugged. "It's your money." She pushed over the fifty she'd won from him. "This makes it a hundred dollars' worth of wages I've advanced you."

    Clayburn nodded. "At this rate you won't owe me anything but a good-by drink when we get to Bannock."

    Fifteen minutes later he'd memorized all her thumbnail notches. After that his fingertips were able to read the cards she'd marked as he dealt them. By the time she realized that he was not just having a phenomenal run of luck, he'd won back his wages plus forty-two dollars of her money.

    She eyed him suspiciously as he showed three aces to beat her three kings. He raked in the pot, smiling innocently.

    Suddenly she gave a soft laugh. "Took you longer to catch on than I expected."

    "You make it hard for a man to concentrate."

    The way those greenish eyes of his looked at her began to have an effect that surprised her. Deliberately, she kept her tone light, "I couldn't resist trying, just to find out what you were made of. I did warn you there was only one thing I don't cheat about."

    Clayburn nodded. "You warned me. Now I know you meant it."

    Cora stood up. "Well, now that we know a little more about each other, I think I'll turn in for the night. I want to be fresh tomorrow."

    His eyes followed her for a moment. She moved with a pantherish grace that accentuated her sensual looks. He got up and went to the window, closed the shutters and locked them.

    She watched him, head cocked a little to one side. "Making yourself at home?"

    "Just taking precautions. If it was Adler that had Farnell stopped, he could try stopping you next."

    "Your concern is touching, but unnecessary. I do know how to take care of myself. You can feel quite safe about me. Or were you thinking of guarding me all night?"

    His mouth quirked in a grin, but his eyes continued to look at her in a way that made her knees go weak. "I would feel safer about you if you weren't spending the night alone."

    Slowly she shook her head. "That's just a bit too fast for me, Clay," she said softly, finding that it required an effort to keep her voice steady. "I don't know you
that
well."

    Clayburn picked up his hat. "You will," he told her, and went out.

    He waited in the corridor until he heard her lock the door from inside.

    

    

    Wilks waited in the darkness of a cottonwood south of Parrish. He sat on the hard earth leaning back against the trunk of the tree, studying the stars overhead while his two horses nibbled at the sparse grass under the branches. The faint sounds of men approaching on foot brought him swiftly to his feet, his fingertips automatically brushing the grip of his holstered Colt.

    The figures of three men appeared through the starlit darkness. George Adler, flanked by the broken-faced bruiser and the slim kid. When they were close enough Wilks noted that they wore no guns, at least none that showed. Adler hadn't wanted to attract attention to their slipping out of Parrish by claiming their guns from the marshal's office.

    "Hello, Mr. Adler," Wilks greeted him. "Farnell get into Parrish all right?"

    "He came in just fine, Wilks. Exactly the way I wanted him."

    "He caught on soon as he saw me. Must've remembered seeing us together up in Bannock."

    "I hear you had some trouble getting the job done."

    Wilks laughed. "I didn't have any trouble at all. Ryle and Pollock did, though." He held out his left hand, palm up. "Pay-up time, Mr. Adler."

    Adler drew the money from his pocket and handed it over. Wilks counted it, stuffed it in his own pocket. He didn't take his eyes from Adler. "That's just two hundred. You promised six hundred."

    "Six hundred for the three of you," Adler said. "That comes to two hundred apiece. That's your third, like I agreed."

    "Uh-uh. You said six hundred for doing the job. The job's been done. Ain't my fault Ryle and Pollock ain't around to share it with me." His voice had acquired a nasty cutting edge to it. He held out his left hand again. "Give."

    The big bruiser on Adler's right shifted his feet.

    Wilks snapped, "Don't get nervous, Benjy." His hand slapped lightly against his holster. The sound froze the big man.

    Adler hadn't really expected to get away with it. Besides, he might be needing Wilks again. Getting the rest of the money from his other pocket, he placed it in Wilks' waiting palm. "I may have more work for you, on the trail to Bannock."

    "I can always use more cash," Wilks said agreeably.

    "Then hole up in the Sangre Bianco gorge and wait for me. I'll be bringing the freight up through there."

    "I'll be there." Wilks pocketed the money and untethered his horses, watching Adler's bodyguards while he did so.

    "Be careful," Adler told him. "Sheriff's out with a posse hunting you."

    "They'll play hell tryin' to follow the trail I left." Wilks swung up onto his saddle, tugged the other horse by its lead rope, and rode off into the darkness.

    Dillon, the thin, surly kid with Adler, said softly, "He don't look so tough to me. If I'd've had my gun, you wouldn't've had to pay him the rest of that dough."

    "You've never seen Wilks in action," Adler told him shortly. "I have. You wouldn't stand a chance against him. Besides, I still need him."

    "You figure the Sorel woman's still gonna try hauling freight up to Bannock herself?"

    Adler nodded. "If I'm any judge, she's got that Clayburn fellow backing her all the way."

    Dillon rubbed his thin hand on his thigh. "She wouldn't have him for long, if I could get hold of a gun in…"

    "Shootin' ain't the only way to kill a man," Benjy cut in heavily.

    Adler looked at the big, powerful man thoughtfully. "You must might have an idea there."

    Benjy grinned, showing broken teeth. "Man's found beaten to death, ain't no way of provin' it didn't happen in a fair fight."

    "It's worth trying," Adler said slowly. "Where's Slope?"

    "Makin' a round of the saloons, like usual."

    "Get him."

    They walked back through the night to Parrish City.

    

    

    Prowling the town, Clayburn found one of the biggest and rowdiest saloons in the red-light district and went in. He stuck to the crowded bar for a time, not drinking much, mostly looking and listening. With the probability of trail trouble from Adler's crew and Apaches, he knew exactly the kind of men he needed.

    By the time he left the saloon he'd found the first of them-Ranse Blue, a scrawny, seedy, sour-faced man in his late fifties. Blue was working as the saloon's swamper, but he'd been a buffalo hunter until he'd been reduced to this a few years ago by the finishing off of the big wild herds. Which meant he'd be a superb rifle shot, injun-wary, and know how to hunt and read tracks.